


Josephine and the No Good, Very Bad, Low Honor Outlaw

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU, F/M, Kidnapping, Low honor, Stockholm Syndrome, dismal attempt at being accurate about period clothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: Josephine was not considered a lady by polite society. Not enough money, not enough education, not enough of a family tree to amount to much. At nineteen, she did not even have an offer of marriage that her status as the daughter of a land owner should have afforded her.Packed up and sent off to an aunt in Blackwater, she never could have expected that her coach would be robbed and her very life placed in the hands of a man who had a wanted poster in three states. He is not a knight with hidden shining armour however, and this is not the great love story it should have been.





	Josephine and the No Good, Very Bad, Low Honor Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, gonna post this here, won't post another chapter until I'm a little farther in Outlaws from the West. Despite the whismical title, this is a darker fic. Definitely not your typical happy ending or romance. 
> 
> Also I've never played Arthur low honor, so this isn't pulling lines or character development from the game like I could with a grey or high honor Arthur.

She couldn’t afford to stop to catch her breath. 

It ripped out of her lungs and rasped into the cold air, worryingly loud in the still night. Louder still was the crash of branches and brush being shoved out of the way as she tore through, desperate to get through the tree line and out of sight. A fallen tree loomed out of the mist, and her thighs slammed against it as she hauled herself over, tugging her ridiculous sodden skirt up and over as it snagged. She pawed at it, trying to see if any fabric had torn off, but the thin moon offered little light to help. 

Cursing, she forced herself still, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her heaving breaths, listening for any telltale sign that someone was following. She fought to ignore the burning in her legs, the chafing on her wrists. Every scrape and bruise would be worth it if she succeeded. 

Minutes passed. A deer wandered out of the gloom, paused when it saw her, and leaped away, white tail bobbing. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she raised herself up and peered over the log, through the trees and back across the valley. Her eyes lighted upon the small hallow nestled in the trees across the river, visible only due to the firelight that twinkled through the mist. No movement, no cry of alarm. Surely it hadn’t been that easy. Surely someone had noticed her headlong dash across the open space. She had sloughed through a river for god’s sake. 

Her eyes stayed fastened for a long moment, body quivering as she waited for some sign. Eventually, they would notice she wasn’t in the tent, surely they'd planned to check on her sometime during the night.

She about leapt out of her skin when an owl hooted, hands coming to press against her chest as she slid back down, hidden from sight. Another moment, and then she sagged with momentary relief. One part down. The hardest part, she lied to herself, as if finding the pass out of the valley and dodging the others would be easier, all on a cramped timeline before the men got back from the train job in three days. 

Josephine allowed herself a moment, just a moment of rest. And as if that moment was the tipping point in her luck, the tide turned. 

The blood drained from her face as a gunshot rang through the night, a cry, dare and promise all wrapped up together, understood as well as any hound baying after its quarry. 

She didn’t have to steal a glance over the log again to imagine the scene that would be presented. A silhouette against the firelight, large and intimidating as his eyes sought anything flushed out by the sound. 

Arthur was back, and the hunt was on. 


End file.
